


Rooftop Ruminations

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crushes, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, HP Joggers Fest, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Queerplatonic Relationships, Requited Love, Romance, Sexuality, Slow Build, Unrequited Love, Venezia | Venice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 13:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Ginny barely registered the evening. The musician, whose bow wrung sounds from the strings with a casual, carefree elegance that Ginny would have usually envied, was just a blur in front of her face. The steps she took to the Rialto Bridge once everyone was ready felt too light and airy, and Luna’s hand in hers was just a wisp of citrus-scented silk. The night grew cooler and Ginny didn’t feel it. Simpering crush, Daphne had said. Pansy had a simpering crush. The words bobbed to the surface of her thoughts and pinched at her wrists and looped around her ears. She kept glancing at Pansy in her velvet skirt and towering heels, and she kept not knowing what to feel.She wasn’t sure who she wanted Pansy’s crush to be on, and she hated that she didn’t know.





	Rooftop Ruminations

**Author's Note:**

> I stayed up til two last night and woke up at six to finish this. I'm getting a kitten this evening, and I have a billion fics to read. This has been a whirlwind of a day, and I am so glad I finished this. I really hope you enjoy it! There's a couple of extra not-quite-warnings in the end notes if you want to read those first, although there are small spoilers there. 
> 
> Thank you, L, for the beta! Enjoy!

Water gleamed below the bridges, lapping at the stone walls and beckoning mist-folk to their doom. Eyes lay beneath the water, filmy with salt and brine but nonetheless beautiful, glowing like amber coals suffused in the smoke of a dying fire. Ginny just barely resisted the call of the depths, but she had years of practice in ignoring the temptation of dark magic, so the urge to dive in was somewhat dulled. 

She traced shapes on the stone bridge with rough, broken nails instead. 

Venice was a place of softness. Each syllable that the people spoke was hushed by the sound of water that moved like ribbons of silk in a low breeze. It was rich with history, but it was a history that Ginny didn’t care for, since it was half-falsified. Muggles didn’t know the world well enough to write the whole history of it. Nobody did. 

This place heaved with magic. Ginny could feel it woven like the fine threads of a tapestry into the brickwork of the city, but she couldn’t access it. Old places like Venice wouldn’t let just anyone use its magic; Venice was an old man gumming on sweet sherbet lemons, refusing to share. Most wizards didn’t even know that magic was a physical, tangible thing, something that lay in the air and stone and earth; they thought it was their right, their legacy, that they were born special, and instead they were born as tools, conduits to be borrowed and used.

Ginny loitered on the bridge, waiting for everyone to catch up. Her feet were so numb from walking all day that she couldn’t feel the cobblestones beneath her flat shoes, but she could imagine them, slick with recently-ceased rain and uneven, like the lumps and bumps of lies that made up history. 

Ginny didn’t think she had always been this bitter, cynical, but the world was sour and unkind, inspiring unkindness in return. 

She leaned over the bridge and gazed at the ripples forming in the water. Just beneath the surface was a pair of grey eyes, like pools of vapour, watching her with curiosity. Ginny had been in Venice for a few hours now, and couldn’t see how someone could be bored in this place; it ranged across one hundred and eighteen small islands, connected by four hundred bridges, and so there was plenty to do. It was almost impossible to be bored in the face of such beauty, but their first day was a grey day, full of rolling, twisting fog, and she felt restless enough to wave at the eyes. They blinked, startled, and then widened. Ginny watched them grow closer with a sense of detached amusement. 

It was possible that she would be the first witch in centuries to be dragged down into a watery grave. Muggles often fell prey to the wandering, wrought-iron hands of merfolk and sirens. They got lost in the mist and followed the sweet sounds of their loved ones, and when they stepped off the edge of the path they found they were sunk, rather than saved. 

Wizards and witches fell for the pride of it. They were convinced, in their foolish hearts, that they were smarter than others because magic ran in their veins, that they could escape, but when they fell, they fell fast. Wands were snapped and shouts were stifled and the cool beds beckoned them in the end. That hadn’t happened in a long time, though. 

Squibs had a little more resistance. One foot in each world, they saw the folly of both.

Ginny had learned a lot about temptation at the tender age of eleven, and she didn’t intend to get eaten up by a pair of pretty grey eyes, but she also didn’t feel like moving. Perhaps it was part of the enchantment, this trance-like feeling, but more likely than that it was the way those eyes gleamed, combined with the restlessness that had been pressing at Ginny’s chest lately, like a caged, winged creature that wanted desperately to fly. 

Pansy Parkinson appeared before the merfolk could breach the surface of the water. She flipped the eyes off lazily with long, painted fingers before casting a thick, sapping spell. The eyes recoiled immediately, and the spell peeled back the fog to reveal the needle-like, webbed fingers that had been curling over the edge of the bridge, crawling towards Ginny’s neck.

“My pleasure,” Pansy said, leaning one narrow hip against the wall. All of her was narrow, Ginny thought; narrow hips, narrow chest, narrow shoulders. She was like a rectangle with a stylish curtain of chin-length dark hair. A pretty rectangle though. Ginny looked away before she could get too caught up in the study of the shape that was Pansy Parkinson, and they watched a jagged tail flick down into the dark, scales glinting like copper coins. 

“I didn’t need saving,” Ginny said. She wasn’t naive enough to think that was actually the case; everyone needed saving once in a while, but damn if she was going to admit that to Pansy. “I wasn’t going to let it get me.”

“Well you were taking your sweet time about it,” Pansy said. Her voice, which had been high and shrill when they were at school, had deepened a little over time. Ginny had seen her sneak as small, purple cigarette out of her handbag when they were on the water taxi earlier, but she hadn’t seen any smoke. 

Pansy started to quick-march over the bridge, towards the other side, where the others were waiting. Ginny hadn’t even noticed them go past. 

Hermione was in the lead, a book on Magical Architecture tucked under her arm and a crinkled map in her outstretched hand. Her wand pushed out the shell of her ear, half-obscured by layers of thick brown hair, and her mouth was moving eagerly, describing the wonders of the city. 

Lavender popped her gum and shifted so that the sun, pale as it was, reflected harshly off the ragged ridges of the scars on her neck. Parvati stood beside her, bored out of her mind, and Ginny watched as she poked Lavender and pointed at a girl in the distance, wearing a floaty sundress. She couldn’t tell if they were admiring the cut of the dress or the girl herself.

“There you are Ginny,” Hermione said, smiling at her briefly. “We were waiting for you.”

Ginny felt strangely indignant. “I was waiting for you first.” 

Hermione tutted and went back to her explanation, her map hissing as she shook it importantly. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and went to join Luna. She was idly selecting several craggy stones from the ground and putting them in the pocket of her blue cardigan, but she looked up and smiled serenely when Ginny drew near. Ginny liked it when Luna wore blue. It made her blonde hair stand out and her skin look even softer. She also liked it when Luna smiled, when the curve of her bottom lip looked fuller and sweeter, but she liked it best when that smile was directed at her. 

“Does Granger ever shut up?” Pansy asked. Ginny refused to act startled by the sudden question, even though she was. She’d thought that Pansy would have gone to join Daphne Greengrass, who was perched on a low wall, checking her watch and eating a packet of curled lentil crisps, or Millicent Bulstrode, who had tagged along on the trip purely because she was the only one out of all of them that knew how to drive. It turned out they didn’t need to drive, but Millicent stuck to her excuse. 

Instead of joining her friends, however, Pansy was behind Ginny, watching their surroundings with a bored gaze. Her eyes, which had always glittered with malice when they drifted in Ginny’s direction at school, were now blank and a very dark blue, like deep sea-water before a rough storm.

“Don't talk bad about her,” Ginny said, although she agreed that Hermione had been particularly stifling so far. 

“She’s a little bossy, but she means well. Although she didn’t believe me when I said the Loch Ness Monster was actually a Water Dragon that had migrated here,” Luna said, in her usual airy tone. Ginny always felt like she was discussing the weather around Luna, no matter the topic. 

“I wonder why,” Pansy said drily. 

“It’s baffling, isn’t it?” Luna agreed. Ginny grinned widely when Pansy wrinkled her upturned nose, and shoved her hands inside the pockets of her dungarees while she tuned into Hermione’s lecture. 

*

They didn’t have a fantastic amount of money, and private Portkeys to Venice were expensive to set up when it wasn’t for a Ministry affair, so the cheap hotel they had found was old and leaning up against other tall, colourful houses, a creaky croak of a thing. Honeysuckle sprouted from the cracks in the bricks and clambered up the side of the building like an eager, foolish child. It smelled a little damp and the fire escape around the back whined with the slightest breath of wind, but it was clean and tidy, and the attendees didn’t seem to mind that only Hermione could speak a little of their language. Luna knew some things purely by osmosis, and Ginny had a pocket-book of phrases in her bag. She had stammered out a few thank-you’s, probably butchering a beautiful, ancient tongue, but she was far from fluent. 

It was a nice place, and the patchwork rugs and tassled blankets all over the room only made the place feel a little less cold and unfamiliar. Not everyone was happy with their arrangement, though. Pansy was moderately well off, and Daphne was just plain rich, but neither of them had parents that approved of them gallivanting off with a bunch of war heroes, and so their funds were limited too. If anything, this only made them complain more about the state of things. 

Ginny went straight to the bathroom when they got back and washed off the sticky residue of the city, sluicing off the curls of magic that stuck to her skin. Magic had always been a comfort, before, but this was nothing like the tendrils of power that slept peacefully in the Burrow, brushing her ankles hello in the morning, like the fine fur of a cat’s tail. This was sultry and heavy-lidded, a beckoning glance from the dark corner of a club. 

She sighed as she tipped her head back against the spray. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t quite over yet. They still had two more days in Venice left; they had only been able to take three out of their busy schedules to see a small slip of the world, an attempt at bonding, Hermione called it, since most of them were going to be working in the Ministry together. Ginny wasn’t, but she had tagged along because Luna had, and Luna wasn’t either, but she had appeared and decided to go regardless of Hermione’s pursed lips and watertight plans. 

And now she was in Venice. 

They had taken a water taxi along the Grand Canal early in the morning, after the Portkey plopped them right outside the Sant'angelo Ferry Terminal. Either the people of Italy were hardier than most, or they saw strange, magical sights every day and were used to gaggles of girls falling from the sky, all clutching bountiful amounts of luggage and a tarnished silver hair comb. It probably would have been a more enjoyable trip along the Canal if Hermione hadn’t gone into business mode and sped the ferry up a little with a discrete spell, much to the bafflement of the flashy, loud tourists. 

There was something about being surrounded by fellow tourists in a new city that made Ginny ashamed to have been born somewhere else. 

Lavender and Parvati had been in their element, leaning over the side of the ferry and waving their sun-hats at passing folk, lipstick brighter than their smiles. To be fair, Ginny had enjoyed watching one woman’s hair grow more and more windswept, gathering the humidity until it resembled a puffy, golden cloud. Pansy and Daphne had seemed unmoved by the beauty of the deep, glistening water, and Ginny knew that Luna had probably seen sweeter sights inside her own mind, and that was why she spent the boat ride talking to Millicent, who was trying avidly to read her book. 

Ginny couldn’t remember where they had gone next, but she was pretty sure it was an important square, and she could almost hear Hermione’s excitable, fact-filled chatter in her ears again. She turned off the shower and clambered out, pulling a towel off the wooden rail and tucking it around her body. She sat on the toilet seat and blinked at the cream wall, where a patch of paint had begun to crack. She remembered the mosaics of Saint Mark’s Basilica, the rich, coppery tones that swathed the images in history. She remembered the way her feet hurt inside the exhibitions of Doge’s Palace, and she remembered thinking that Fred would have liked the armoury tours. He probably would have charmed everything in sight to have elaborate battles behind the backs of unsuspecting Muggles. 

She didn’t think he would have liked the San Marco Campanile, if only because he wouldn’t have been able to climb the bell-tower. 

The thought brought a smile to her face, but her chest ached. The space behind her ribs felt bruised and battered, and she wanted to curl up on the armchair at the Burrow, and have Fred come barrelling in through the front door with mud all over his jeans and a bright grin on his face, George at his heels and a bright idea on the tip of his tongue. She wanted his spindly fingers to steal her book right out of her lap and read aloud in a lofty voice until she shrieked and gave in, chasing him until he gave it back. She wanted to take him to the Rialto Bridge, later, and dare him to make fireworks brighter than the white stone at night. 

It was okay, she thought, to feel like this where nobody could see her. Ginny had never been afraid of her own emotions, and she had always been proud of how fierce she was, but she couldn’t deny that she hated to cry in front of anyone. At home, she felt as though she had to put on a brave face for her mum, because Molly wept no matter where she was, silent tears as she stared out of the window and loud tears when she found one of Fred’s stray socks and angry, busy tears as she put the potatoes on to boil and swept the kitchen. There was nothing wrong with that, and there was bravery in it too, but it wasn’t how Ginny worked. 

She wiped a few tears away, took a shuddering breath, and stood. The ache shifted to a more manageable place, the small of her back, where she was most vulnerable. It was warmer now, muggy, too warm for anything more than a roomy shirt and a pair of loose, thin joggers, her favourite blue pair that were soft and comfortable. They were charmed so as not to catch fire, rip, or let any unwanted smells out - an addition that Fred and George had cheerfully tacked on when they gifted them to her on her birthday, cackling. She hadn’t grown much since then, but her thighs were a little thicker, her calves more toned, so she had been expanding them carefully with spells to make them last.

“Ginny?”

A knock came at the door just as Ginny was slipping on some socks. 

“Be there in a sec,” she called, recognising Hermione’s voice. She staggered around, hopping as she yanked the sock up over her ankle, registering the bristle of hair that meant she had forgotten to shave one of her legs again. She shrugged to herself and dragged herself out of the bathroom, almost bumping into Hermione outside the door. 

“Eager, are we?” Ginny asked, slinging her wet hair over one shoulder as she summoned all her discarded belongings into a damp pile in her arms. She stepped aside so Hermione could step in. 

“I just don't want to be late,” Hermione said, her voice buzzing and humming like honey bees in a flowery field, ripe with anticipation. “Not that the Rialto closes, of course, but I thought we could get something to eat nearby. There’s loads of restaurants and things around, I’m sure we can find something we’ll all like there.”

Hermione was practically dancing now, her legs pinched in, and Ginny snorted with amusement. 

“Alright, Hermione, now shut the door before you make a mess.”

Hermione scrunched up her nose in disgust, and then shut the door with a reproving snap. Ginny continued to chuckle to herself as she dipped into the bedroom they all shared. 

Lavender, Parvati and Millicent were nowhere to be seen, but Pansy was reclining on the sofa, her legs crossed delicately. Her shoes were kicked off on the rug, and her ankles looked elegant and dainty in sheer, slinky stockings. She looked up as Ginny trudged in, piling her hair into a bun with one hand, and raised an eyebrow. 

“What are you wearing?” 

Ginny didn’t think she’d put on anything particularly outrageous, but she’d been wrong before. She snapped a hair-tie into place with practiced ease and glanced down, but nothing scandalous glanced back. She looked up at Pansy and mirrored her arched look. 

“I’m pretty sure you should be familiar with the concept of clothes by now, Parkinson.” 

Daphne sighed from the bed opposite Pansy. She was munching on a plate of cookies shaped like the letter ‘s.’ Each one was thin and crisp, and left a light coating of crumbs down Daphne’s silk blouse when she bit into it.

“They’re jogging bottoms, Pans. Just comfy trousers, you know, for lounging in.” 

Pansy hummed, her nose turned up again. There was something in her eyes, though, that made Ginny look away. She ignored them both as she dumped her stuff inside a bag, where hopefully it would miraculously clean and dry itself. She was in the midst of putting on her ratty trainers, broken laces trailing on the ground, when Luna wandered in through the door and took Ginny’s hand, easy as anything, tugging her towards the door. 

“There’s a man with a violin in the street outside,” Luna said, her voice warm and sweet. “He sounds lovely, like a bird. You should hear him.” 

Ginny’s breath was so caught in her throat that she couldn’t muster up any words. Luna’s hands were so soft and often ink-stained from the print of the newspapers she was so frequently hidden behind. Ginny could feel the bite of one of her smooth nails if she shifted her thumb a certain way, and it made her wonder how it would feel to have those nails digging into her back, or dragged along her thighs. 

She followed Luna, stoic in the face of Pansy’s disgruntled noise. She could hear, though, in the brink of a moment before the door snapped shut behind them, Daphne say something that ripped a small hole in her chest. 

“Honestly, Pans, just do something about your simpering crush so you can go about mauling each other and I can eat my food in peace.” 

Ginny barely registered a lot of things after that. The musician, whose bow wrung sounds from the strings with a casual, carefree elegance that Ginny would have usually envied, was just a blur in front of her face. The steps she took to the Rialto Bridge once everyone was ready felt too light and airy, and Luna’s hand was just a wisp of citrus-scented silk. The night grew cooler and Ginny didn’t feel it. Simpering crush. It bobbed to the surface of her thoughts and pinched at her wrists and looped around her ears. She kept glancing at Pansy in her velvet skirt and towering heels, and she kept not knowing what to feel. 

She wasn’t sure who she wanted Pansy’s crush to be on, and she hated that she didn’t know. 

*

Morning dawned on a day of Tintoretto, Titian, and Hermione’s lists, which were a work of art themselves. Ginny stole one from Hermione’s clipboard as they dawdled on a lonely street, and stared wide-eyed at the detailed, colour-coded bullet points that dictated where they were going, what time they were eating, and when they were going to use the restroom. Ginny decided then and there to need to pee at the most inopportune times. 

“She’s even drawn a little diagram,” Pansy said, peering over Ginny’s shoulder. “It has perspective lines and everything.”

“I think that’s where we’re going now,” Ginny said. She squinted at the tiny, neat letters, and it was a miracle that her next words came out sounding vaguely comprehensible. “Scuola Grande di San Rocco. Sounds like a barrel of laughs, that.”

“It’s a day of art and culture, after all.” Pansy smirked as she plucked the list from Ginny’s hand and passed it to Daphne, who stopped fiddling with her yellow purse in order to grimace at the piece of stiff parchment. 

“Come on,” Hermione said impatiently, as she zigged around an idly-humming Luna and snatched the parchment back. “We’re already behind schedule.”

“You do realise this is supposed to be a holiday, don't you Hermione?” Ginny asked, as they started to walk. “We’re supposed to be able to stop and look at things, and point awkwardly.”

“That’s why I factored in five minutes for dawdling, but we’re at almost ten minutes now and I want to get going,” Hermione said, and Ginny threw up her hands and watched Luna walk instead of arguing. Luna’s hips didn’t sway so much as shift entirely from side to side as she bounced up the pavement, radishes dangling from her earlobes. Ginny was hardly being subtle; she wondered if Pansy was watching Luna too. 

“Want a sweet?” Daphne offered, rustling a packet of sugared lilac bon-bons near Ginny. 

Ginny eyed the packet warily. “Are they poisoned?”

“Mhmm,” Daphne said, nodding solemnly. “I figured the best plan would be to kill you out here in broad daylight, in front of all these witnesses, with Hermione Granger present. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get away with it. Don't you think?”

Ginny grumbled inaudibly and took a bon-bon. She heard Pansy laugh on the other side of Daphne, the malty sound burning through the air like whiskey down an unaccustomed throat. She cast a look at her askance, under her short lashes, and felt Pansy’s amusement like a physical touch, a caress. 

The day was a blur of portraits and paintings. Ginny didn’t see much point in art that stayed stationary because although it seemed to have a lot to say, it couldn’t actually tell you anything. But the gilded frames and quiet echoes of footsteps around the halls made her miss Hogwarts something fierce, and she could tell the others felt the same by the way they grew quiet. Millicent put away her book and grew a wistful smile, and Hermione’s eyes took on a distant look that spoke of war and hiding, running and fear. The hunt and the hunted. Lavender shrunk in on herself, and Parvati’s hand on her hip bolstered her until she walked with quiet determination, her chest pushed out and her scars shining in the lights. 

They saw the Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, and ogled the tomb in the depths of the dark, gloomy church. Ginny inhaled wax and dust and stood in the darkness, wanting to leave. Magic was stronger here, and there was no temptation here, only age-old sorrow and a careful hand on her heart. Luna had her head dropped back as she gazed at the ceiling, caught in the flickers of candlelight, but even that didn’t make Ginny feel any better. 

Pansy was the one who followed her out into the sunshine and talked quietly about her garden back at home, and the sleek black cat she owned that moved like a panther and whined like a child. She talked about her mother, who was a stiff, awful woman who smelled like gin and always pinched Pansy’s cheeks to put the colour into them. She babbled while Ginny breathed, except it wasn’t babbling, because despite the hints of nervousness, every word was measured and calm. Her stockings were itching, Pansy said, and she wouldn’t have worn heels except she liked the way they sounded on the cobblestones, and because it was expected, and sneered at, equally. 

She didn’t touch Ginny, and Ginny almost shook apart with gratitude, because she didn’t think she would be able to hold in the grief if she had. 

“Sorry,” Ginny said blindly, her eyes following a couple along the path outside, but not quite seeing them. It was an old couple, a doddering man with a woman beside her, hair white hair curling over her ears and her hands trembling as she guided them both towards the Church. Ginny shifted as she watched them. She was growing calmer, now, and shame and embarrassment was starting to seep in. 

“Why?”

“It just reminded me of Fred’s funeral,” Ginny said, trying not to grit her teeth. It was strange, how grief could still catch her unawares. “We had to go to a Church, because nowhere else was really available, and Hogwarts wasn’t repaired yet, and it was dark and gloomy and nothing like he would have wanted.”

The wake, afterwards, was a blast of colour and noise and a few fires. That was Fred, and it made the ache worse and better at the same time. She felt like a bruised peach, rolling around in someone’s tupperware as they walked, tossed up in the air one moment and then smacking into hard surfaces the next. 

“No,” Pansy said, shaking her head gently, the movement at odds with the steel of her tone. “I meant, why did you say sorry? You don't have anything to be sorry about.”

Ginny was stumped. She turned on the wall they had found to sit on and felt the stone snag on the material of her leggings, which were tucked under a pair of shorts. She had wanted to wear her joggers out, and keep the comfort with her, and right now she wished she had. 

Pansy was hidden in the cool shadow of the Church. A portion of her silky hair was pinned back with a purple clip, borrowed from Millicent, and the rest clung to the sharp shape of her face in dark, thin strands. Her lipstick was a shade of purple too, and a little smudged at the top of her lip. Sweat glistened at her temples from all the walking. Her head was tipped slightly to look at Ginny, and Ginny found herself wanting to kiss along the line of her neck, to press her tongue to soft-looking skin. 

“I don't know,” Ginny said, a bit at a loss. She didn’t know what to do with the thoughts roaming around in her head like wild things, chomping at all her preconceived notions and snapping their jaws at her hesitance. “I dragged you out here and started nearly sobbing all over you. Doesn’t seem like much of a holiday to me.”

Pansy snorted. She surprised Ginny when she did things like that, when she acted without elegance, perhaps because the actions were still strangely elegant. A lot of things about Pansy surprised Ginny, like the small roll of her tummy where it met the waistband of her skirt, and the way her eyes were bare of make-up, and the stretch marks Ginny could see on her arms, just below the shoulder. Or maybe it didn’t surprise Ginny that these things were present, but rather that Pansy didn’t mind showing it to the world, with short sleeves and tight skirts. She wore heels because she liked the sound they made when they hit the ground, and not concealer, and something about that was more beautiful than Ginny could ever imagine. 

“You keep staring,” Pansy said, after a few moments of silence. She didn’t sound like she minded. She just sounded like she couldn’t get her mind around it. “I’ve seen you look at Lovegood, too. A lot.”

Ginny grimaced. She didn’t particularly want to talk about this, because it just wasn’t talked about. The others were still inside the Church, though, and Pansy was here, asking, and Ginny liked her. Not intensely, not the way she thought Pansy could possible have wanted her too, but enough that she was curious, enough that she was apparently staring. 

“Luna’s my friend,” Ginny said, shrugging one shoulder. Pansy’s eyes followed the movement, and Ginny wondered if she saw elegance in Ginny’s carelessness too. “I mean, she was my friend, and she still is, but I kind of think of her a bit too much to classify her as just a friend.”

“So you want more,” Pansy deduced. There was something there, in her voice, that made Ginny look up from where she had been studying the moss poking up out of the wall. A blank face met her eyes, and she shrugged again. 

“No idea,” Ginny said. She felt guilty. “I feel like I’m using her, though, if I just look at her to figure things out.”

“It would be using her, if you were doing more than looking, and she thought you were both something more,” Pansy said. Her long legs stretched, her heels clattering on the ground. “Looking isn’t the same as deceiving someone. I’ve spent most of my life just looking at people because I was taught that I wasn’t allowed to do more, and then Daphne and Millicent sat me down and told me to stop being stupid.”

Ginny waited for more words. Pansy was humming now, a song that Ginny was pretty sure had been on the wireless in the kitchen at home the day before she left for Venice. She waited for some kind of wisdom that would put all the puzzle pieces in place, but Pansy just kept humming. 

“Anything else?” Ginny said, catching sight of their group billowing out of the Church doors. “Anything else to tell me?”

“I suppose you’re already sitting down, so I may as well,” Pansy said, and when Ginny looked at her, she was smiling strangely. “Stop being stupid.”

*

“Hermione, if we don't sit down soon, I’m going to rip my shoe off and stab you with it,” Lavender said, collapsing against a bright wall in the middle of the Palazzo. She had a shopping bag in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other, and Parvati was at her shoulder, rummaging around in her handbag for tissues. 

“Trust me, you don't want those shoes aimed anywhere near you,” Parvati said flatly, without looking up. “Lav’s feet always stink after she’s walked more than two feet, and I feel like we’ve been storming around an entire city for seven years.”

“I’m offended, but I can’t even argue,” Lavender whined. “I think I’ve ground down my heel. Not the heel on my shoe, mind you, but the actual heel on my foot. Please, Hermione, I’m not above begging.”

Hermione sighed, but a small smile lit up her face as she tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ears. The heat had made her hair a little thicker, but it was pretty, and she looked sun-drunk and happy. 

“I suppose we can sit down somewhere,” Hermione said. “I saw a cafe back there, if you like?”

“How about right here?” Lavender said, moving to flop on the ground. Millicent intercepted her descent and scooped her up in her strong, large arms, her book nowhere to be seen for once. Lavender squealed as she was suddenly airborne, her shopping bag crashing against Millicent’s back, and Parvati blinked at them. 

“I’ll carry her,” Millicent said to Hermione, with an eye-roll at Lavender when she began to complain. Hermione’s smile grew a little wider, and she looked away before she could spot Millicent’s cheeks blushing pink.

Lavender stopped complaining to gape at Millicent, and then she shuffled closer in Millicent’s arms and began to whisper furiously in her ear, to which Millicent scowled and stalked off out of earshot, Lavender bouncing in her arms. Parvati hurried along, throwing curious looks at Hermione over her shoulder, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice. 

Ginny didn’t quite know what to think of Lavender and Parvati. She knew a little of Lavender because of Ron, and the way they’d draped themselves all over Hogwarts and snogged the hell out of each other, but she didn’t know much about her as an actual person. She remembered feeling immensely jealous of Parvati when she went with Harry to the Yule Ball, and liking her butterfly hair clip, but that was it. 

Hermione had always said that they were gossiping, self-obsessed feather-brains, but she had also shared a dormitory with them for years, fought a war with them and invited both of them on this trip. The jealousy and dislike must have gone away at some point. 

Maybe, Ginny thought, looking at the lip-gloss that Hermione had borrowed from Lavender that morning, they just understood each other better now. 

“I think I fancy a pastry,” Hermione said, and she slowed a little to match Ginny’s pace. Luna was chatting happily to Daphne, just up ahead, her long blonde hair catching the sunlight. Daphne’s hair was in a loose bun at the back of her head, strands coming free, and Ginny thought about how she was looking again, at more than just Luna, and she felt strange. She couldn’t quite bring herself to stop looking, and she also couldn’t bring herself to look at Pansy. 

They eventually settled on a crowded cafe that had room outside, with little round tables tucked under a canopy of umbrellas. Hermione went inside to order them all coffee, and came back with hot drinks and platters of pastry twists before disappearing again. Ginny didn’t like coffee unless it had a crap-ton of sugar in it, so she was grateful when Luna ambled up and scattered several packets of sugar onto Ginny’s napkin, near her elbow. 

“I always carry useful things around with me,” Luna said, patting her bag as she smiled beatifically in the sun. Her sunglasses were pink and plastic and shaped like hearts. “You never know when you might need something sweet.”

Ginny smiled up at her. “Is there some kind of magical beast that doesn’t like sugar?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of surprise tea, but I expect there is. I’ll look into it, for the Quibbler,” Luna said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. She strolled off to the other table and sat down, and Ginny realised she had craned her neck to look at her. 

“You’re staring,” Millicent said gruffly. 

Ginny gave a loud, dramatic sigh and propped her chin up on her hand. “Why do people keep telling me that today? I’m totally happy being unaware of my inability to be subtle, thanks.”

Millicent snorted. There were two open seats left at their table for Hermione and Daphne, who were both inside arguing over jam, it looked like, and Millicent had plopped her jacket on one of the seats. Ginny had a feeling that she knew who she was saving it for. 

Millicent had been quietly attentive of Hermione ever since they arrived, and Ginny thought of Ron, back home, still learning how to be one of six, and felt uneasy, like she should warn Millicent to be careful. Hearts were precious, fragile things, and although they bounced back, the impact was still painful. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m going to say something uncomfortable, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hold it against me.”

Millicent seemed wary. “Alright.”

“You like Hermione, don't you?”

Millicent eyed her for a moment, and then rolled her eyes. “Yeah. And before you talk about how stupid it is because she loves someone else, just know that I’ve already thought about it, and I don't care.”

Ginny drew herself up, eyes narrowed. “So, what? You’re going to pursue her anyway? Isn’t that going to end up hurting you both?”

Millicent watched her, and then she watched the people passing them by. “I’m not going to pursue her because I’m not interested in anything more. It’s not about that. It doesn’t always have to be about being with someone. I can just like the feelings I have now. I don't need more.”

Ginny deflated, the wind drawn out of her sails. She was stumped, and she felt a little out of her depth, but when she thought it over, it made a little more sense. Some part of her didn’t want to move on from what she felt for Luna. She liked the carefulness of it all, the way she felt goofy and giddy in Luna’s presence. She liked the stupid things she said around Luna a little less, but the fact remained that she wanted to keep the now. 

She even liked the beginnings she was creating with Pansy, although those were harder to think about. 

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Ginny asked, playing with the edge of the napkin. The people moving by didn’t seem to see them, lost in their own bubbles. “Always carrying that around, knowing that you couldn’t have more even if you did want it?”

Millicent shook her head, taking a sip from her coffee. She glanced at Hermione through the cafe window, and her face softened, and that right there was love, plain and true. Ginny didn’t know how she’d missed it, and she supposed she hadn’t, but she had missed the depth of it all. 

“It doesn’t hurt because I don't want more,” Millicent said. “I know some people say that and they’re lying. I know they say they’re happy to be friends, and later on it breaks them because they’re hurt inside and they want what they can’t have, but I want exactly what I have now, and I’m not going to want more.”

Ginny was lost, now. “Explain it to me?”

Millicent huffed, a rueful smile on her face. “Fine, but only until she comes back. I want to talk to her about it on my own terms.”

Ginny nodded fiercely, because she could understand that, if nothing else. 

“It might have a name, or something, but wizards don't really deal with that kind of thing. All of our labels are for people we think are worth less than us. Muggles and Squibs and Mudbloods.” She put a hand up peaceably when Ginny twitched and made a small, snarling sound. “I don't believe that shit for a second, and I never really have. The only reason I never liked Hermione when we were younger is because she was smart and I was too cowardly to ask her if she’d ever read Bronte, even though I knew she must have.”

Millicent took a deep breath, and Ginny had to wonder if she’d rehearsed this. “What I feel is an intense, deep form of friendship, and I don't want anything more than that. I don't want sex or romance, I just want this. That’s all I’m ever going to want from anybody.”

Ginny sat back against the seat while Millicent sipped her coffee. She seemed so sure and certain of herself, even if it was rehearsed, and there was an undeniable seed of envy growing in Ginny at the confidence in Millicent’s form, in the way she knew herself so entirely, but there was also a healthy level of respect. She imagined Millicent standing in front of her mirror, talking firmly to imaginary loved ones about what she knew to be true, and the respect only grew.

“Finished ruminating?” Millicent asked wryly, and Ginny groaned, snatching up the sugar packets and ripping the first one open. 

“Merlin, no wonder you’re friends with Hermione. Ruminating. Who says ruminating?”

“Oh, that’s a good word,” Hermione said, as she hooked an ankle around the chair and pulled it towards her, a pot of jam in her hand. Daphne sulked along behind her and huffed as she sat down, which meant Hermione had won the argument over flavour. Millicent shifted her jacket so Hermione could sit down, and they both smiled at each shyly, and Ginny felt less like sulking. 

“You know what else is a good word?” Lavender piped up cheerfully, from the other table. “Queerplatonic. Ever heard of queerplatonic, Hermione?”

Hermione frowned, and then blushed. “I think so. I’ll have to read a bit more about it later.”

Ginny turned in time to see Lavender wink, pastry twist in hand. “You do that.”

*

“Favourite place so far?” Pansy asked, as they cracked open the window. The others were downstairs in the communal sitting area or in the bathroom, and Pansy had snagged Ginny before she could do more than put her joggers on, and beckoned her over to the window next to the fire escape. It didn’t just lead down to the ground, but up to the roof as well, and although it looked rusted and ready to give at the touch of a hand, Ginny didn’t care. She had always liked climbing things, and there were no orchards full of trees in Venice, so a rickety fire escape would have to do. 

She juggled the bottle of wine and two glasses as Pansy wiggled out onto the fire escape. “I liked the waterside palace. With the sculpture garden. If I have to look at art, I guess I might as well do it in a palace.”

Pansy’s laughter sounded pretty through the window. She ducked her head down to take the glasses and the wine, and Ginny squirmed through next, listening to the way the metal creaked beneath her feet. She was wearing ankle socks and no shoes, and her joggers fell low, but not low enough to keep the breeze from nipping at the skin on her shins. 

“The Peggy Guggenheim Collection, I think it was called,” Pansy mused. They stepped quickly up the staircase and clambered onto the roof. It felt strong and stable enough that Ginny relaxed, stepping over warm stone to land somewhere in the middle and throw herself casually on the ground, limbs sprawled. 

They stayed quiet as Pansy popped the cork on the bottle. She poured a little wine into each glass, and then changed it into water with a quick spell. When it was clear, she froze it with a whispered _glacius,_ and then poured the wine in. There was a crackle and hiss as warm red wine met cold ice, and she passed Ginny her glass with a lazy flourish. 

“To Venice, I suppose,” Pansy said, tilting her glass. “I could say something heartfelt, but I honestly don't think my stomach would cope.”

Ginny took a sip and rolled her eyes. She didn’t usually like wine unless she was already a little drunk, although this had a nice, spicy kick. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten all that pasta at dinner then,” Ginny suggested. 

Pansy curled a lock of her hair around her finger and hummed. “Maybe, but when one eats with Daphne Greengrass, one learns to eat until one drops down dead. And carbonara is a weakness of mine. At least I didn’t just have soup.”

She shot Ginny a dirty look, but Ginny just moaned a little, remembering the taste of fresh tomato on her tongue. “That was good soup. And the bread rolls, Merlin, I could live off them.”

Pansy laughed, and this laugh seemed a little more real than her past ones, like she found Ginny genuinely amusing, and a little baffling. She sounded fond, and Ginny sipped more wine so that she wouldn’t have to think about that. They talked a little, mostly about Ginny’s life at the Burrow, and her family. Pansy mentioned a few things, like how Draco was driving her up the wall and how Blaise was going to be jealous of her aesthetic adventure, but mostly she just watched Ginny and made soft, curious sounds when Ginny stopped talking. 

“How long have you liked Luna?” Pansy asked, after a lull in the conversation. The wine was mostly gone and the sun was mostly down, and everything felt cool and new, a little adventurous. Ginny thought she could taste rain on her tongue; she had always been quite good at knowing when it was going to rain, predicting the weather when she was younger to the point where her mum dragged her to a seer to find out if Ginny had the Gift. She didn’t, not really, but she and Ron and Charlie had always been a little intuitive, even if they weren’t the most tactful creatures. 

Ginny made a face, swirling the wine around her glass. She felt loose and warm on the inside. “Do we really have to talk about that?”

“No, but I think it would be good for you. Not that the dopey look on your face whenever she’s mentioned isn’t adorable,” Pansy added, smirking. 

“I’ve liked her for a while,” Ginny hedged, rolling her eyes. “I don't really know how long, because it hasn’t really been easy to pull it apart, you know?” She gestured wildly with one hand. “I don't know how to tell the difference between me liking her as a friend and me wanting more. I always noticed she was pretty, and I always liked when she held my hands so she could draw flowers on them, and she always smells like apples, and I used to notice that right in the beginning. I don't really know what’s different now, just that I want to kiss her, I guess.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Pansy said, and there was a wealth of compassion there that pushed a conclusion right in Ginny’s face and waved it around like a flag. 

“So it’s Luna, then?” Ginny asked, her heart sinking. “You like Luna too?”

Pansy took a deep, steadying breath and downed the rest of her wine. She smacked her lips and put the glass down, and then she looked at Ginny and said, “Merlin, Weasley, you’re as dense as anything, you know that?”

They sat in silence while Ginny absorbed that. There was really only one way to take the words. Her heart tripled its pace and she could feel her mind tumbling over itself as things bubbled to the surface of her brain, and she thought of how Pansy had followed her out of the Church and told her to stop being stupid, all the while being as kind as Pansy knew how, and she couldn’t quite muster up the courage to say anything. 

She felt guilt settle as the silence stretched. The last of her wine didn’t look as appealing now, and Pansy gathered up their things and stood. Ginny was surprised when her hand stretched out to pull Ginny up, and she took it hesitantly. 

Pansy’s hand was smoother and dryer than Luna’s hands usually were, but she was firm and real and she was there and she was a girl and Ginny didn’t know what to do. 

“Are you going to tell Luna how you feel?” Pansy let go of her hand, and Ginny wanted desperately to snatch it back up, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t make herself do it, and she wondered where the lion in her chest had gone that roared so often, where the spirit was that chased her on her broom, when the ability to be brave had withered and died. 

“I should,” Ginny admitted. “I definitely should, but I don't know if I can do it, and I don't want to ruin what we have now.”

Pansy eyed her in confusion. “You don't think she loves you too.”

Ginny snorted. “I think she loves her boyfriend more, and in very different ways.”

Ginny was sure that it wouldn’t last, the thing that Luna and Neville had, but she was also sure that they had been together for six months, and that before that, Ginny had been interested, and Luna still hadn’t. Or if she had, she’d kept it pretty damn quiet, and then she’d moved on to someone else, someone Ginny also cared about and refused to hurt. 

“Oh,” Pansy said, and then she didn’t say anything.

“They’re pretty quiet about it,” Ginny said, when Pansy still didn’t say anything. “Neville likes his privacy, and Luna doesn’t really go around offering information unless it’s about magical creatures or plants or mystical plagues that might wipe out the earth.”

Pansy quirked her lip. “Maybe you should offer her some information then, to get the ball rolling.”

That was a nudge, for her to talk, and Ginny nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Pansy nodded too, and they both stood for a moment, admiring the way the sky dimpled with dark colours, before Pansy took the lead and headed towards the fire escape. 

*

There were two big beds crammed into their room, and Ginny, Luna and Hermione had been sleeping in one of them. Lavender took the ornate sofa by the door, unable to let anyone sleep beside her, not even Parvati. Parvati took the floor instead, curled up on the rug with extra blankets and a soft cushioning charm. The Slytherins all shared the other bed, although Pansy complained for most of the evening about how much Millicent had kicked in her sleep the previous night. 

“Oh for goodness sake,” Hermione said eventually, tossing her head in annoyance as she swung her bare feet over the side of the bed. “Here, Pansy, take this bed. Anything to get you to be quiet for more than a minute.” 

“Uh, do we get a say in that?” Ginny asked, rolling over from where she was tucked a hair’s breadth away from Luna. “Only I didn’t think…” 

“It’s fine with me,” Luna said sleepily, covering her mouth as she yawned. Her hair was damp from a quick wash, taking up one half of their shared pillow, and the ends tickled Ginny's nose, but she didn’t complain. 

Pansy’s feet were cold, her legs thin as they wound with Ginny’s. Ginny froze, but didn’t say much as Pansy fell against her, half-asleep and yet still graceful, and dropped off almost immediately. A hand brushed her thigh and then moved away again, and she expelled a loud breath in a rush. She thought she could feel Pansy smirking, but neither of them spoke, still. Ginny didn’t feel like there was much to say. 

She could hear Hermione whispering to Millicent about something or other in the other bed, and Daphne was snoring softly. Their room was a mess of cluttered shapes in the dark, and the bathrobes hanging on the hatstand cast strange and unruly shadows on the walls. Ginny watched them until her eyes felt heavy and gritty with sleep, and then she shifted, not towards Luna, but back against Pansy. Just a little. 

Pansy’s breath was warm against the back of her neck, and Luna’s hair smelled like apples. Ginny burrowed deeper under the thin coverlets, the smooth material of her joggers bunched in one hand, and breathed until she fell asleep. 

*

Murano Colonna wasn’t as packed as Ginny had feared, so she was able to dawdle on the steps to the Church. Churches were everywhere in Venice, but this one, she told herself firmly, was different. The Santa Maria e San Donato had floors made of mosaic, and the air around it was lighter and warmer than the crumbling affair in Ottery St Catchpole. 

“You know, supposedly a dragon was slain here,” Pansy said, drifting nearer with another one of Hermione’s information sheets clutched between her nails. Ginny could see Hermione fumbling around a little way away, hunting for the sheet, supposedly, while Daphne stood beside her with her arms crossed. 

“Millicent might murder you,” Ginny said, but she was guiltily trying not to laugh as Hermione grew more and more frustrated, and then eventually gave up, throwing her hands up in the air and stalking off. 

Pansy fanned herself with the stolen parchment. “She’s no St. Donatus of Arezzo, but I suppose I wouldn’t mind dying in the same place as a dragon.”

Ginny snorted, shaking her head. Her hair was loose today, falling wherever it liked. It seemed even redder in the sun, streaked with bits of gold, and there were kinks in the back that she hadn’t bothered to straighten out, put there by a deep, restful sleep. 

“Charlie would have a fit if he heard about this dragon,” Ginny mused, as they walked closer to the Church. They were outside at the moment, and Ginny could see Lavender and Parvati chasing each other around and laughing giddily, tipsy from the alcohol they’d been sipping all day. 

“Perhaps we could avenge it,” Pansy suggested. “I know a few good spells for everlasting fire that doesn’t damage its surroundings. We could set the whole place ablaze and watch people scramble for an explanation.”

“And get arrested immediately for risking exposure to Muggles,” Ginny finished cheerfully. “Sounds like a good plan to me. What else is on that bloody information sheet?”

Pansy didn’t have to look. “More Churches.”

Ginny groaned, and Pansy looked at her with something of a sympathetic grin. She arranged an artful, controlled breeze to carry the sheet of parchment back to Hermione, who looked startled and then suspicious as she snatched it out of the air. 

“If it helps, we can escape. Tour the city on our own.”

“I don't want to come back to the hotel find all my belongings packed and cleaned and folded, ready to go,” Ginny said, pulling a face. “Hermione makes passive-aggressiveness into an art.”

Pansy snorted and snagged Ginny’s hand before leading her up the steps. “I guess we’ll just have to enjoy our itemised list of experiences then, won’t we?”

Ginny’s chest felt full of squirming, fluttering feelings. She squeezed Pansy’s hand lightly and got a cautious look in return. 

Ginny smiled faintly. For once, she didn’t know quite where Luna was. “I guess we will.”

*

Ginny was twisting spaghetti around a fork when Luna plopped down in the seat Pansy had just vacated. They had split up into smaller groups in the restaurant, which was teeming with people, and their food had just arrived when Pansy nipped to the loo to wash her hands. Ginny had offered her some hang-gel, but all she got was an exasperated, slightly disgusted look. 

“That looks tricky,” Luna said, her eyes crinkling as she watched Ginny try to eat. She was sure there were more things to eat in places like this than pasta and pizza and wine, but all she really wanted was carbs, so she had embraced her awkward tourist side and ordered a plate of rich spaghetti. 

“I feel like a five-year-old at a wedding,” Ginny agreed, glancing around at the abundance of classy women in their loose, striped shirts and high-waisted trousers, colourful heels on their feet. “At least I’m not wearing my joggers, I guess.”

“I like your joggers,” Luna said, stealing a bread roll from the basket on her table. “I wanted to make sure you were okay over here. You’ve been watching me quite a lot, but Daphne asked to sit with me, and she’s really nice too. She’s been teaching me how to fold napkins into swans.”

Ginny dropped her fork back into the nest of spaghetti and grinned at Luna. She didn’t mind Luna saying that she’d been watching, since Luna didn’t mean anything by it. “That’s cool. I’m okay here though. Pansy’s not so bad after a while. She’s actually kind of funny, but if you tell Ron I said that he’ll probably cough up a lung, so maybe don't.”

Luna’s eyes crinkled again. She had such pretty eyes, but Pansy did too, and even the waitress who served them had nice, almond-coloured eyes. It was overwhelming, the amount of people that Ginny was suddenly realising she found attractive. 

“I just thought I’d check. I should go back and eat my food before Daphne folds it too.”

Ginny chuckled, and before Luna could stand, her hand shot out and grabbed Luna’s. She felt a little shaky with nerves but the bravery was back, or perhaps it never really left, and Ginny was just waiting. Maybe it was just the wine. 

“Luna, I wanted to tell you something.”

Luna tilted her head. Ginny had a feeling that Luna knew was she wanted to say, but she was grateful that she gave her a chance to speak it aloud first, by herself, without interrupting. 

“I just…” she faltered, and then steeled herself. “I know you have Neville, and I know you don't feel the same, but I think it’s good to get it out there. I like you. A lot. Like, a stupid amount.”

“There’s nothing stupid about liking someone,” Luna said quietly. Her voice was full of an ache that Ginny knew wholeheartedly, and she felt her heart sink. Even though she’d known, she hadn’t quite been able to stop herself from hoping anyway. 

“I know everyone looks at me and thinks I always have the words, even if they happen to be strange and odd,” Luna began, an uncharacteristic hesitance in her tone. “But I don’t know what to say here. You’re a good friend, Ginny, and I do love you, but not quite like that.” 

Ginny nodded, biting her lip. “Just so I know… do you think you ever could?” 

Luna hesitated briefly, and for a moment Ginny thought she was going to lie to save her feelings, but that wasn’t Luna. Luna was strong and brave because she was the truth, and knowledge, and knowing that lies are always worse than what may hurt you at first. 

She shook her head, her blonde hair falling over her eyes. She brushed it back impatiently and looked at Ginny, not with pity but with sorrow, and Luna had a kind heart, so Ginny knew she was wishing that things were different. That she could have said yes.

“That’s alright,” Ginny said softly, covering Luna’s hand and squeezing it once before letting it go. “I just had to know. And I’m glad I told you, but I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.” 

Luna shook her head again, fiercely this time. “Never.” 

There was a silence that felt stifling before Luna stood carefully. She brushed a light kiss to Ginny’s temple as she walked away, and Ginny closed her eyes, letting the scent of apples surround her. 

Quite suddenly, she couldn’t be here. She stood, her chair scraping against the floor, and gathered both hers and Pansy’s things. As she fled the scene, she grabbed Pansy on the way back from the toilets, filling her in in a hushed voice as she marched them outside. 

Outside, the sun was still warm and bright. 

*

Ginny very much wanted it to rain. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets and scuffed her feet against the ground as she walked. She wanted it to rain because she felt like some kind of miserable gremlin on the inside, and thought the weather could have at least considered her thoughts and feelings before it went ahead and started behaving all cheerfully. 

“Would you like me to conjure a raincloud?” Pansy inquired, producing her wand with a flourish. Her steps were light and unintrusive beside Ginny, but Ginny could still feel her there, and she liked that. It was comforting, to have someone there. 

“Is that your subtle hint for me to stop moping?” Ginny said, grumbling slightly as she kicked a small stone into the Canal. It dipped under the water with a small plop, ripples disturbing the glassy surface. 

“You had your heart broken ten minutes ago,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “I think you’re allowed at least half an hour of moping.”

Ginny groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face. “This is so stupid. I knew what she was going to say, but I still went and said it all anyway. And I don't even really feel sad, or heartbroken. I just feel kind of stupid.”

“From what I’ve heard, love makes idiots of us all,” Pansy drawled, wrinkling her nose. “Merlin, I sound like Blaise when he’s in one of his woe-is-me moods. A word of advice for you, Weasley, if Blaise ever attempts to court you, kick him swiftly in the balls. At least then my suffering will be short and sweet rather than drawn out over many weeks of lamenting his lack of progress. And I get to see him crumple.”

Ginny snorted with surprised laughter, her mood lifting slightly. Part of her wanted to be a grouch and cling to it, but the rest of her was kicking the grouchy side down into the dust and shrieking. 

“I’m serious, though, Ginny,” Pansy said, and the sound of her name of Pansy’s lips made her heart skip a beat. “You’re supposed to feel a little ridiculous. You put your heart out there and it got stepped on, and you’re allowed to feel hurt, no matter how big or small the hurt is. I expect you’ll feel better about telling her later.”

“I guess,” Ginny said grudgingly. She already felt a little better now, after having told Luna. It was like a weight was off her chest, like a secret had stopped tying up her tongue, and she liked the lightness that flowed through her. 

“We only have one more night here, and the evening’s close to being over,” Pansy said, turning around to walk backwards. She was wearing heels again, with round toes and a fabric like peach fuzz, and they clicked against the cobblestones. Ginny didn’t know how she was still upright. “What do you want to do?”

“I want,” Ginny said firmly, “to put my joggers on, and let you choose.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow, and then smiled. Her lipstick was red tonight, but a deep red, not the bright, almost-pink red that Daphne liked. This was the colour of gemstones and withered roses. 

“We better get back to the hotel, then. Unless you want to summon your joggers and change right here, of course.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and marched ahead, leaving the unpleasantness of the restaurant behind her. 

“C’mon, Parkinson. I think we can be classier than that.”

*

They took to the rooftop of the hotel. A blanket was spread out against the rough, weathered brick, and plates of fruit and chocolate littered the soft space Pansy had created. Ginny blinked rapidly at the scene and turned accusingly to Pansy. 

“You planned this.”

“Naturally,” Pansy said airily, waving a hand. “I know you Gryffindors like to jump headfirst into water regardless of whether it’s deep or seething with sharks, but we civilised people tend to think ahead. I didn’t anticipate us leaving early, but still. You haven’t really been eating properly recently, and I thought you might like something small before we had to go to bed. There are preserving spells over everything, of course.”

Pansy looked uncomfortable at the confession, as though she had said too much. For Ginny, though, she had said just enough, and she settled onto the blanket with her legs crossed and dug into a bowl of grapes. There were little bits of cheese on a board nearby as well, so she mashed a grape between two squares and stuffed it into her mouth, to see if the posh had a point. 

“Lovely,” Pansy said, scrunching her face up at Ginny’s lively chomping. “I thought we were classier than that, Weasley.”

“I am wearing joggers, I have just embarrassed myself in front of a pretty girl, and I am not afraid to do it again,” Ginny said, and she took another bite before she registered what she’d said. Her eyes widened, and she almost choked on her cheese before a palm came up and patted her on the back, dislodging it from her throat. 

“There, there, Weasley,” Pansy said, her eyes glinting. “From the amount of ogling you’ve been doing, I figured you found me somewhat attractive. It doesn’t have to be a big secret.”

Ginny flushed, chewing slower. She wasn’t particularly ashamed of herself for looking, or for being noticed, but she couldn’t help but think that her mum would be tutting right about now at her lack of tact and subtlety. As well as her table manners. 

“Yeah, well,” she said, before trailing off into silence. 

“Still coming to terms with it?” Pansy asked. She picked up a raspberry and bit into it, dabbing at her lip with a handkerchief from her pocket. She had changed into small, comfy shorts and a pair of long socks, and her hair was unclipped, several strands curling at her temple. 

“I don’t know,” Ginny said, shrugging. “I think I’m nearly there. I guess you never really know, do you? Maybe there’s always something new to figure out. Merlin, that’s terrifying.”

Pansy made an amused sound. “Yes, a little terrifying, to never know yourself fully. But also exciting to realise you’re opening your mind again and again, to new things.” 

Ginny hummed. She quirked a small grin. “We’re very philosophical this evening, aren’t we?” 

Pansy made a disgusted sound. “It’s this city. Not to mention the wine and the heartbreak. And the emotional depth of women, I imagine.” 

Ginny found herself laughing, tipping her head back as her giggles rang out into the sky. She had never liked describing them as giggles when she was younger, too convinced that girlish things were bad, and would make her look weak. That was partly why she had aged Fleur for so long. Now, though, she liked the way her laughter sounded childish sometimes, like there were parts of her from so long ago that hadn’t grown up, that perhaps never would, that were untouched by grief and war. 

She dropped her head, still smiling, and caught Pansy’s eye. She looked strangely breathless, mesmerised, as though Ginny was something worth looking at, like she was one of the portraits in the galleries they’d been to, gilded and ornate. A work of art. She flushed just thinking about it, and she kicked one leg out mindlessly, rumpling the blanket. 

“It’s too soon, I imagine,” Pansy said slowly, her words careful and clean, like the edges of the blunt fruit knife on the ground. “But I have to ask, just like you did. Would you date me, do you think?” 

She wouldn’t look at Ginny, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon, where clouds gathered to create a bed for the setting sun. Beams of light bathed the rooftops in gold, and Pansy’s skin glowed. Ginny was sure that her hair was shining. 

“I don't know,” Ginny said, as she picked the green hat off a strawberry. Pink and red stained her fingertips. Her nails were starting to grow again. “Have you stopped being an arse, do you think?”

Pansy scoffed quietly, her mouth tipped up in a smile. She had a nice mouth, Ginny let herself think. Not at all like Luna’s - Luna had a narrow top lip and a plump bottom lip, and Ginny wasn’t going to think about kissing them anymore. Pansy’s lips were thin and always dark with plum-coloured lipstick. Ginny wanted to mess it up a little, wanted it smeared on the freckles along her collarbone. She wanted it on her mouth. She wanted it to paint between her thighs. 

When it was just Luna that Ginny looked at, the world hadn’t felt as terrifying. Luna was an exception, something Ginny would never be able to touch, and so she had felt safe looking. Pansy, though, was another girl, rather than just one, and that scared Ginny. It wasn’t an exception anymore. 

“If you think I haven’t changed since I was younger, then maybe you don't know me well enough to want to date me after all,” Pansy said. Her words weren’t particularly bitter, just thoughtful, but Ginny felt indignant again, for no reason at all. 

“I thought that was what dates were for,” Ginny said. The strawberry was a bit bruised and sticky in her hands, so she dropped it back on the plate and picked up another. “You know, getting to know each other. Finding out if the other still has racist values. I’m pretty sure you don’t since Hermione invited you here and you said yes, and it’s been a few years since you left the war behind you, so you must have changed. But that’s what dates are for, learning about each other.” 

Pansy watched her for a moment, her eyes dark. Then, she reached over and plucked Ginny’s strawberry from the plate, dropping it onto her tongue before she curled it and dragged the fruit into her mouth. It was strangely obscene, and Ginny found herself not blinking, watching, as Pansy swallowed, hummed, and began to suck the juice from her fingers, all with the same thoughtful air. 

“You’re a very stubborn, contradictory person, Weasley,” Pansy said softly. Her eyelashes dripped with liquid gold, and there was red on her fingers still, and that made Ginny look at her hands, admiring the way her skin looked smooth and soft and wondering how they would feel on her hips. 

“I think it’s a personal strength, actually,” Ginny said, through the haze that had fallen down over her eyes. “Tell me something.”

“Like what?”

“Tell me why you want to date me,” Ginny blurted. Her cheeks went red but she stood her ground, her expression fierce, and she watched as Pansy’s blank eyes filled with fire. 

“I think you own the sea, Ginny Weasley, so you don't need to fish.”

Ginny shook her head, her hair thumping gently against her cheek. The words made her warm and cold at the same time. “I’m not fishing for anything. I want to know what you want, so I know whether or not I can give you it. I don't want to promise you something if I can’t deliver it, and I want to figure out if it’s too soon to try.” 

Pansy didn’t appear to be breathing. Ginny didn’t really know how to either, her lungs betraying her. She wasn’t sure if it was too soon or not, if she felt too raw from Luna, but it wasn’t too soon to find out what could be. 

“And I don't see why you’d like me,” Ginny added. “Not because I don't like myself, but because I don't really seem like your type.”

Pansy cocked her head. “You’re thinking about this.”

Ginny hesitated, briefly, and then she nodded. “I’m thinking about this. So tell me. Is it just… do you like how I look? Just sex, is that what you want? Or do you want actual dates, and a relationship?”

Pansy went quiet again. And then she drew herself up and shuffled a little closer, scrunching up the blanket. “I like how you look, and I want to sleep with you because of that, and I want to date you because I like who you are.”

Ginny swallowed, and had to look away. Her ears were burning, and she could feel her face and ears burning red, the way they only did when she was angry or embarrassed or turned on. 

“That… oh.”

A hand found her chin and turned it back towards Pansy, and there was a glimmer in her eye and the beginning of a smirk on her face. 

“Intimacy kink, Weasley? I think I can get behind that.”

Ginny slapped her hand away, despite wanting to feel the touch more. “It’s not a kink, and if it were, I don't see why I’d tell you about it right now. We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Shame, really,” Pansy drawled, leaning back against the blanket on her elbows. “If you’d been counting each day in Venice as a date, that would have put us at a solid three, and I would have been able to tell you all about how I want you to sit on me.”

Ginny’s mouth went dry. “Sit on you? What, in your lap?”

Pansy’s smile was an indolent thing, like the curl of her cigarette smoke. “Anywhere you like, darling.”

Ginny stood up quite suddenly, scowling and red-faced. “I’m going inside. You want a date, you have to ask me out properly. We’re starting at one when you ask me, by the way, so keep your mind out of the gutter.”

Her own mind was very much in the gutter, but Pansy didn’t have to know that. 

“I’d stop wearing those joggers around me then, if that’s what you want,” Pansy said, and her laughter followed Ginny all the way down the fire escape and through the window. 

Ginny found she didn’t mind too much, because her own fierce grin was hard to contain too.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclosure: Ginny has not figured out her sexuality all through this, and although I don't focus on her attraction to men, she can be bisexual or pansexual or anything you like, really, but she's definitely attracted to women here. This is kind of like a realisations fic, sprinkled with lovely ladies, and some background unrequited love between Ginny and Luna, but nothing too bad. Fred is also dead here, and Ginny is still quietly grieving. I think it's set a couple of years after the war, though. 
> 
> I really hope you all enjoyed it, and thank you to the mods for putting together another lovely round for this fest! <3


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